PS 3515 
.E168 
14 

1917 
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IN DIVERS TONES 



LYRICS 



BY 
CLARENCE WATT HEAZLITT 

Author of "When Skies are Gray" 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1917 






.^0 
1/ ■" 



NOV 12 1917 



Copyright, 191T 
Sherman, French &• Compant 



©CiA47Rl26 



TO 
THE MEMORY OF 

MY MOTHER 



THE LYRIST 

The woods have sylvan lyres 

On mhich the wmds may play. 
And clear is the piping of birds 

In the meadows of May; 
But there is richer melody, — 

Deeper, sweeter, higher — 
When the poet sings for me. 

With his heart for lyre. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Solitude 1 

A Woman and Sir Galahad 1 

Sleep, the Magician 2 

Revisited S 

Prayer 3 

Quest 4 

Out of the Years . 5 

In a Gallery of Pictures 6 

Moonrise 7 

October Evening 7 

The Advance of Night 8 

Heathcliff and Catherine 8 

Withered Branches 8 

The Alien 9 

Appearances 10 

Seeming 11 

The Tiger-Cat 12 

Losing the Lily 12 

Simon's Son 13 

Barabbas 14 

December 15 

Bowed 15 

The Fallen Leader 16 

In Old Trinity 16 

The Way Home 17 

William Wilson 18 

A Fatal Parting 18 

Apollos at Corinth 19 

Two Portrait-Painters 19 

Snow and Fire 19 



PAGE 

Sophistication 19 

Music and Mystery 20 

Dead in December 20 

The Art Supreme 22 

Purpose 22 

A Dream 23 

The Dream Caress 24 

The Feast of Hope 24 

Futility 25 

Cui Bono? 26 

" For Something Afar " 26 

Doctor Kennedy 27 

A Ripple on the Surface 29 

The Salvation Army SO 

Sorrow for Angels 32 

The Yellow Peril 32 

Sleep 33 

Failure 34 

Unbidden Guests 34 

Respite , . 35 

Conflict 35 

Kinship 37 

At the Back of the Desert ..... 38 

Black Wins 38 

White Wins 39 

White and Gold 40 

At Sunrise 40 

Another Chance 40 

Possibility 41 

February in the South 41 

Spring's Awakening 42 



PAGE 

April 42 

April Noon 43 

Pink and White and Purple 43 

In Cherokee Park 44 

By Southern Seas 45 

July 46 

After the Game 47 

Reply to a Valentine 47 

Mignonette 48 

Vitium Funestum 48 

The Poem A La Imagiste 48 

He Goes on Forever 49 

Uncle Sam to Kaiser Bill 49 

The Purple Cat 51 

Advent and Exit 51 

Youth 52 

Age 52 

An October Elegy 53 

Machpelah 54 

Before Sunrise in November . . , , 55 

November 55 

The Two Guests 56 

Mysteries . . i 56 

Trespass 57 

Audience 57 

At the Tomb 58 

" All That I Am not Is He " .... 58 

The Whole Burnt-Offering .... 59 

Safety 59 

The Water of Life 60 



SOLITUDE 

The witch, Loneliness, — 

I have seen her face, 
When the setting midnight moon 
Was shining through December woods. 

I have seen her face, — 
The witch. Loneliness, — 

On gala-nights. 
In splendor of electric lights, 
When the streets surged with festive throngs 
(To me but monks in sable hoods). 
And the air shook with shouts and songs 
And music of horn and rich bassoon, — 

I have seen her face. 



A WOMAN AND SIR GALAHAD 

Unless I dream, — this man's eyes seem pure ! 
He is not unmindful, — 
I can see that he admires, — 
But he looks on me 

As a priest might look on a picture of Our 
Lady. 



2 In Dter0 Cane0 

When I curve my foot, or clasp my hands, 
When I let down my hair, coil after coil, ' ^ 
His gaze is serious, smiling, steadfast, — 
Into these eyes he looks as a sweet boy might 

look. 
But this is no boy. . . . 
On his lips, in his eyes 
There is that which is strange to me, — 
That which may keep him safe, 
Where chieftains and kings have fallen. 
I have heard of saints — 
In desert cells and monkeries. 
But not in guise of gallant knight 
And warrior. 

Holy Mother, — can this thing be, — 
Can a man be — pure ? 



SLEEP, THE MAGICIAN 

In dreams 

All is well again. 

The gray pall and the dark cloud 

That enter into all things 

Are unknown. 

The world is young, 

And the morning sun is shining. 

In every hedge and fence-corner 

Is the low restful insect-chorus : 



3n Dfiier0 Coneu 3 



And everywhere is the smell of haj 

New-mown. 

All is well again — 

In dreams. 



REVISITED 

Since I was here, — is this enchanted ground 

Where change comes not, though change is all 
around? 

The same fair light, the same deep pensive 
hush 

On leafy, shadowed lawn; in yonder bush 

The selfsame robin trills its vesper song; 

And yet — and yet — 'tis long — long — 

Since I was here. O for the boon 

Of this sweet calm, — this changeless after- 
noon, — 

Within my wild and troubled heart ! 'Tis clear 

That I, / have changed — since I was here. 



PRAYER 

I WOULD rest my soul in the green 
Of the hills and meadows and trees 
Would that their life were mine, — 
Deep calm life of the trees ! 



In Ditier0 Cone0 



Would that my soul were one 

With the rhythmical life of the trees ! 

I would rest my soul in the white 
Of yon dreamily-floating cloud: 
Would that I were as free and high, — 
Would that I were as white ! 

I would rest my soul in the blue, — 
Your wonderful blue, O sky ! 
Would God that I were as true — 
And as happy — as you ! 



QUEST 

From somewhere out of the wistful blue 
Where clouds are resting dreamfully, — 
Blending with far-off carol of birds — 
A spirit seems to be calling to me, 

Calling and calling to me. 
As though it were seeking — seeking to tell 
Of some strange beauty that few may see, — 

Wistfully seeking, — 
Why should it long to show beauty to me? . . . 

My God, is it you? 



In Dit)et0 Cone0 



OUT OF THE YEARS 

He met me on a lonely walk 

And in a lonely place, 
When sunset fires were burning low, 
He came upon me face to face, — 
A pretty, dreamy boy I knew 

Many years ago. 

The same quaint wonder in his face — 
The same shy questioning gaze — 
As when the world beyond the hills 
Was story-land, — a wonder-place 
Of knights and dwarfs and fairy folk. 
In those far-distant days. 

More strange than any minstrel's lay, — 
This mystery of the years ! 

The little boy I met to-day 

With the weird smile and manner shy, — 

Who met me on my lonely way, — 
That dreamy boy was 1 1 



In Ditjer0 Cotter 



IN A GALLERY OF PICTURES 

The spell — the spell of their dreams 1 

Here would I always stay, 
Richly enshielded and safe 
From the gray world without, — 
That bleak world where I lived — 
Was it only today? 

Color and bloom are here; 
Here there are wonderful skies ; 
Castles and trees are here, — 
And haunting and beautiful eyes. 

Indian summer is here, 
And here is eternal spring; 
Here there is light on the sea, 
And blessed is everything. 

God's own magical world 
Where nothing offends nor hurts I 
Soft is the light all about; 
Here would I dream alway. 
Kindly enfolded and safe 
From the terrible world without. 
Dark with eternal gray. . . . 

O, the spell of their dreams ! 



3n D{tJet0 Cone$ 



MOONRISE 

Gone with the day is the sordid West, — 

Voices metallic have ceased ; 
Still by the clatter and glare obsessed, 
Now for your silence and dusk I long. 
Ancient, mystical, changeless East! 
Give me your deep, immemorial calm. 
Born of the blend of your purple and orange! 
Give me your myrrh and your healing balm, 
East that is Samarkand, Babylon, Thebes, — 

Mystery, love and song! 



OCTOBER EVENING 

Pearl and amber and rose, — 
Ineffable calm and repose; 
Into the amber sky 

Blackbirds fly; 
Into the orange west. 
Through the gloaming, goes 

My life's road, — 
Orange and ashes-of-rose — 

Peace and repose. 



In Dtet0 Cotte0 



THE ADVANCE OF NIGHT 

They fade through the west, — red streamers 
and gold, 

And the east is a dreaming world ; 

But anon through the zenith are standards un- 
rolled 

Of azure far-streaming emblazoned bold 

With jeweled crescent and stars untold, — 
The banners of Noctis unfurled. 



HEATHCLIFF AND CATHERINE 

Was it you calling me all last night. 

Or only the voice of the gale? 
And when the sobbing and wailing ceased 

And the stars came out, — 
Was it you that looked on my face in the night. 

Or only the pale moon, — Cathy? . . . 



WITHERED BRANCHES 

It was late afternoon in the winter woods 
And low in the west was a band of light. 
Dull and lurid, — the color of bronze, — 
Barred by the woods' black columns. 



In Dit3et0 Cone0 



The ground was strewed with branches and 

twigs, 
Twisted and gnarled, — which the frost had 

lopped : 
And one came and gathered them up 
And bore them away through the gates of 

bronze. 

The time was late in the city streets, 
The silence of frost and ice was deep. 
Crouching women from doorways peered, — 
Peering faces, bloodless and pinched. 
Men were stretched on seats in the parks 
With heads drawn down between shoulders 

sharp : 
And one came and gathered them up 
And bore them away, as the clocks chimed 

twelve. 



THE ALIEN 

Said a queer little man of the world one day, 

In a voice in a silvery key, — 
" There is one among us who seems not of us. 

And we like him not," quoth he. 

" In his far-away eyes is the light of skies. 
In his voice is the sound of the sea : 



10 3n Dit3er0 Cone0 

And he bows not down to our little gold gods, — 
We like him not," quoth he. 

" Our mantles black and our crimson hoods 

On him are strange to see; 
His garb is of white and the green of woods ; 

We like him not," quoth he. 

" As we grovel and play and swear and pray, 

He takes no part, — not he. 
His gaze seems pure as the light of stars, — 

We like him not, — not we. 

" In his far-away eyes is the light of skies, 
In his voice is the sound of the sea ; 

And he will not bow to our little gold gods ; — 
We like him not, — not we." 



APPEARANCES 

A BAD face? It may be so. 

And a bad heart, too, for aught I know; 

But that I know which I might tell 

Of faces scorched with the fires of hell, — 

Branded faces, — cut and scarred 

Beyond imagining, — blasted, marred, — 

And yet those faces — faces of saints t 



In Dtaetg Coneg n 

No beauty there, you think, smock face? 

Not Hebe's cheek, — but trace on trace 

Of stress of conflict and slash of foe ! 

A bad face? Ay, — mayhap 

An Augustine — saved from a harlot's lap. 

A bad face? It may be so, — 

With Sir Galahad's heart, for aught I know. 



SEEMING 

Dancing in joy is the sunlit sea, 
Murmuring, laughing, singing to me. 
Clapping white hands in radiant glee 
To the rise and fall of cadences free ; — 
But yet — O sky that is bending above, 
What is she hiding from me, — the sea ? — 
Graves, 

Resting and dreaming, — the moonlit sea ; 
This murmuring song is a mother's croon ; 
Lullabies low she is crooning to me. 
As we dream in the calm of the night's high 

noon. 
Yet, ah, yet — of her lord in the sky 

I would crave one boon, — 
This prayer would I make to her lord, the moon : 

Tell me her name. — 

Death. 



12 In Di\3er0 Cone^ 



THE TIGER-CAT 

My tiger-cat was bright and sleek 
In her shining coat of yellow and black, 
And softly she sung when I patted her cheek, 
And gently she fawned as I stroked her back,- 
My beautiful, beautiful tiger-cat. 

As of figures in dreams that sway and float 
Was the wondrous grace of my tiger-cat, — 
For lither she grew, and, truth to tell, 
Far stronger than I, — yet, I confess, 
I loved her terrible, fierce caress, 
Her masterful beauty, strong and bright ; — 
But there came a night, there came a night, — 
A night when she had her claws in my throat, 
And the deep green eyes were aflame of hell,- 
My beautiful, beautiful tiger-cat. 



LOSING THE LILY 

A LILY by my window grew. 

Wondrous fair and tall, — 

A lily of the light; 
And all its beauty was for me,- 

All its beauty white; 

That closer it might be, — 



3n Ditjer0 Cotter i3 

Its bright head might fall 

Upon my breast, — 
I plucked it from its stem, — 
When the lily it was lost to me, 
And it was lost to all. 



SIMON'S SON 

My boy from whom I hoped so much ! my boy. 
Whose fair young face looked sweetly up to 

mine; 
With curly head and smiling lips and fine 
Dark eyes that shone with eager hope and joy. 
I trained him well, and taught him right employ 
For subtle gifts of mind; of things malign 
I warned, — the lure of women and of wine, — 
And counseled pure delights that would not 

cloy. 
It cannot be [ With passionate regard 
He loved Him, — hung upon His word and 

thrilled 
With keenest pleasure at His lightest touch. 
Sold Him for silver? God, my God, — 'tis 

hard! 
Some midnight blast from hell, some curse ful- 
filled! 
My poor, poor boy for whom I hoped so much ! 



14 3n D{t3et0 Cone0 



BARABBAS 

'Tis but a dream and vision of the night ! 
'Tis very dark — as of my dungeon, — dark ; 
Beat thou thy breast and rouse thee ! yet, the 

mark 
Where fetters were, and are not, greets my 

sight. 
They told me I was free to seek the light, — 
Yet all is dark. I dream — is this high 

noon ? — 
Then what yon crimson orb, like blood-stained 

moon ? 
I seem mid surging crowds . . . than earth 

more bright 
A radiance streams from skull-shaped hill 

nearby ; 
I gaze . . . from middle cross of crosses three 
It streams, on which a shining One, who calls 
In silver-trumpet tones — to me? " I die 
Where thou shouldst die — upon thy cross — 

for thee ! " 
I do but dream within my dungeon walls t 



3n Ditier0 Cone$ i5 



DECEMBER 

A PALLID sky that faintly, sadly smiles 
As cold winds stir its veil of silv'ry gray ; 
Black trees that raise bare arms as if to pray — 
In dread amid the hush that fills the aisles 
Around, — forsaken aisles of tawny green. 
All strown thick with frost-dark, shrivelled 

leaves ; 
A silence brooding, — nay, that interweaves 
With all the mystic meaning of the scene. 
Ah, sad, pathetic silence! as of one 
Who, bowed and dreaming, sits at end of day, 
And muses o'er the ashes cold and gray 
Upon the hearthstone ; for the day is done. 
And with it fled the hope again to see 
A day that has been — and will never be. 



BOWED 

How heavily they weigh, — 

The years. 
So laded down are they 
With loneliness and tears. 

And they weigh 

Upon my soul. 
I would lift me up and pray 



16 3n Ditierg Coneg 

And go upon my way, 
But the years, — 
The cumulative fears 
And burden of the years, 
Their loneliness and tears, — 
How wearily they weigh 
Upon my soul ! 



THE FALLEN LEADER 

Just a little grayer glooms the sky. 
Just a little darker my pathway. 
Just a little drearier falls the night. 
Since I lost faith in you. 

Just a little lower bows my head, 
Just a little fainter beats my heart, 
Just a little heavier burdens weigh. 
Since I lost faith in you. 



IN OLD TRINITY 

Another world it is, and far removed. 
In this rich gloom and solemn hush low-bowed. 
How strange to think that but a step would 
bring 



In Ditjet0 Cone0 i7 

The thronged and sunny street where stern- 
browed men 
Shout and jostle in their eager strife, — 
Thy children, Lord, in quest of golden toys. 
But in this sacred place they seem as far 
As if by seas and ages vast removed, 
While He who bides the same from age to age 
Alone is near and real to burdened souls. 
" O Thou that changest not, abide with me 1 " 



THE WAY HOME 

To a city graveyard's farthest corner 
Daily came a man to dream and pray, 
When the sunset's level parting ray 
Touched with crimson fire the marble mourner, 
Gazing ever on the mounds below. 
Gray-haired, bowed and dreaming, — even so — 
Buried here his heart was, long ago. 

Strange the contrast to the sad-browed man 
Was a child who came each sunset hour 
Through the graveyard, singing as she ran, — 
Bonnie, blithe as any springtime flower. 
Gaily sped she down the walk alone, 
Disappearing through a gate of stone 
Thick with moss and ivy overgrown. 



18 an Djt)et0 Cone0 

Often had the lonely muser wondered 
Why the child should take that dreary way, 
Suited best to those who long had sundered 
Ties that bind to childhood's happy day. 
Half expecting prank of elf or gnome, 
To his gentle query came reply : 
" This way takes me straightest to my home ; 
To this gate my father's house is nigh." 



WILLIAM WILSON 

For me — and now — a tap at the door,- 

A tap at the door for me? 
Ay, just to say I come no more, — 

No more need yow open to me. 



A FATAL PARTING 

Quoth Self Respect to Self Control, 
" Be off, I have no need of you ; " 

Quoth Self Control to Self Respect, 

" My going would be the death of you ! " 



In Ditjer0 Cone0 i9 



APOLLOS AT CORINTH 

" No man can God and Mammon serve," — 
So spake the Lord in accents mighty ; 
And he must shatter brain and nerve 
Who serves both God and Aphrodite. 



TWO PORTRAIT-PAINTERS 

One features paints, — nor reads the heart : 

In surface beauty revels ; 
The other's deeper, subtler art 

Paints witches, saints and devils. 



SNOW AND FIRE 

As oft may surge 'neath changeless snow 

Volcanic fires untold ; 
So burning human hearts may glow 

'Neath surface calm and cold. 



SOPHISTICATION 

How strange to find in the shy gray eyes 
Reminder of things primeval! 



20 3n Diuet0 Cone0 

When they so furtively glance sidewise, 

Too plainly I trace 
The world-old sign of a fallen race, — 
The knowledge of good and evil. 



MUSIC AND MYSTERY 

A SONG there is at turn of every street, 
As sweet as life, — were there ears to hear it ; 
A tale there is in every face you meet. 
As strange as death, — were there seer to read 
it. 



DEAD IN DECEMBER 

Madison Julius Cawein * died December 8th, 1914. 

All white and hard the ground is and leafless is 

the bush; 
'Tis fitting that the woods are bare since silent 

is the thrush; 
For the music of the beech trees — the silence 

of the pine ; — 
Since marble are the singing lips of Madison 

Cawein. 

* The poet pronounced his name with the accent on 
the last syllable. 



3Jn Dit)er0 Cone0 21 

All black and dead the grass is and voiceless is 

the hedge, 
And sluggish is the creek's flow among the 

frosted sedge ; 
For the singing of the orchards — the silence 

of the pine ; — 
Since hushed and cold the heart is of Madison 

Cawein. 

'Tis fitting that the skies are draped, and air 

and earth are still. 
That not a wild thing stirs abroad on frozen 

field or hill ; 
The world he loved is slumbering, as though to 

give a sign 
That closed forever are the eyes of Madison 

Cawein. 

But the songs he sung! They have not died, 
nor will they die for aye, 

But live to cheer the sons of men to time's re- 
motest day; 

The hearts of us are kindlier, our souls are more 
divine, 

For the singing of the one who sleeps, — our 
Madison Cawein. 



22 3tt Dit3er0 Cone0 



THE ART SUPREME 

Said student to sage in minster dim 

While sunset rays were gilding, 
And far through the west the cloudland elfs 

Fantastic towers were building: 
" What is the noblest art of all, 

If counsel you were giving? " 
" My son," quoth he, " there is but one, — 

The golden art that day by day 
Weaves Beauty into Living.^'' 



PURPOSE 

God forbid that any eyes 
Should duller be for me! 

I would seek no richer prize 
Than so to live 

That some tired and listless eyes 
Might beam again 
For me. 

God forbid that any cheek 
Should paler be for me! 

I would seek — seek 
So to live 

That some wan and faded cheek 



3n Dttierg Coneg 23 

Might bloom again 
For me. 

God forbid that any lips 

Should sadder be for me! 
Undismayed by graceless slips, 

I would so live 
That some pathetic and drooping lips 

Might smile again 
For me. 



A DREAM 

Asleep, or near to Sleep, I lay, — 

Asleep, but as those who wake ; 
'Twas at the end of a weary day. 
And my heart seemed throbbing as though it 
would break 

With burden of lonely woe. 
When in the room a presence there was, — 
A brooding presence of long ago, — 
As of one that hovered in sympathy sweet, 
As of one that to soothe and shelter would 

seek. 
As of one that bent low and kissed the cheek 

Of her child of long ago. 



24 jn Ditjers; Cone0 



THE DREAM CARESS 

Just the touch of one who cared, — 

A tender and playful touch, — 

A lifting the curls from the gloomy brow 

Of one burdened overmuch ; 

But it carried me back — and back — 

To boyhood's morning-land, — 

Where the wilful boy had one who cared, — 

And real was the dreamland hand. 



THE FEAST OF HOPE 

Roll the light song along, high heap the plat- 
ter, — 
Raise the high song and strong, — high din and 

clatter ! 
Thus the pale goblins of care shall we scatter: 
For this is the eve of the world's avatar, 
And all through the east shines a glory afar. 

Encore on encore sing, — why trouble borrow? 

Let voices roar and ring, — drown care and sor- 
row! 

Thunderous chorus of music sonorous, — 

Trumpet and viol and cymbal, — breaks o'er 
us! 



In Dit)et0 Cone0 ^5 

Joy for tonight there is, hope for tomorrow ; 
For this is the eve of the world's avatar, 
When the kindly of heart see the Magian star ! 



FUTILITY 

I DREAMED in maze of flutes and viols 

That sobbed and yearned in cadence sweet ; 

Then dreamland faded, and I saw — 
A woman reeling down the street. 

I strolled rich galleries along 

'Mid pictures by the mighty dead. 

And through a window glanced to where 
A child a drunken father led. 

Where wondrous beds of pansies bloomed, 

I wandered by a riverside, — 
When, — just ahead, — a beckoning hand, 

A smiling, luring face that lied. 

What help, O Christ, for such as these 
In pictures, pansies, symphonies.'^ 



26 an Ditiet0 Cone0 



CUI BONO? 

Strive again? As though it mattered! 

Yield the struggle, — 

What's the use? 

Ideals shattered, 

Banners tattered. 
Still you'd strive as though it mattered ! 

What's the use? 

More endeavor — more abuse, — 
Passions playing fast and loose, — 
What's the use — what's the use? 

Hunted, battered. 

Blood-bespattered, — 
Striving still as though it mattered? 

What's the use? 

Yield the struggle, — 

What's the use? 



" FOR SOMETHING AFAR " 

Famishing heart. 
Yearning forever ! 
Satisfied never. 
Famishing heart! 
Deathless thou art 



In Ditierg Coneg 27 

In thy longing endeavor, 
Famishing heart 
Yearning forever! 



DOCTOR KENNEDY 

Not far from the river around a bleak corner 
Where sidewalks are battered to many a hole, 
Where factory smoke drapes the sun like a 

mourner, 
And small shop windows display their wares, — 
There hung years ago a storm-beaten sign: 
" Doctor Kennedy — office upstairs." 

Doctor Kennedy, — servant of all ; 
University honor-man ; 
Bushy gray hair and kindly eye. 
Broad of shoulder and careless of dress, — 
Little cared he for collar or tie, — 
But the cheer of his voice seemed to heal and 
bless. 

His heart was tender, his brain was clear ; 
Gladly he served for many a year. 
Answering calls by night and by day. 
Summoned to cottage and cellar and loft ; 
Easily found when troubles and cares 
Were thickest and heaviest, — quick to respond 
Was " Doctor Kennedy, — office upstairs." 



28 3n Ditierg Coneg 

Never a bill or a dun sent he, 

No collector in his employ ; 

His one reply to " Doctor, how much? " — 

" Pay me whatever you can, my boy." — 

Think it not strange that when he died 

The streets were packed to the riverside. 

For there came a day of no response, 

Though the office door was open wide. 

Small care had he taken by night or by day, 

In fury of storm or wintry blast. 

Small care he took, — there was none to chide : 

Himself without stinting he freely gave. — 

And barefoot children and coatless men 

And women with shawls thrown over their heads 

Thronged all the way to his open grave. 

A man in workman's blouse spake out, — 
His eyes were wet and his voice was broken : 
" Men, for our friend, — this friend of ours, — 
We can't do much, — we must give some token ; 
A shaft of gold as high as the sky 
Would be none too good for the like of him." 

Some days after, — a week at most, — 
When the sun was low and the sunset clouds 
Trailed up the sky like a ladder of gold. 
Strong arms placed at the head of his grave 
A planed and polished cedarn post, — 



3n Ditietg Coneg 29 

Rounded and chiseled, — the work was fine ; 
And to it they fastened, 'mid tears and prayers, 
The old familiar, beloved sign : 
" Doctor Kennedy — of[ice upstairs'' 



A RIPPLE ON THE SURFACE 

(Chums discuss an incident) 

" Heard about her, — Sadie Carter? " 
" Sadie Carter? Don't recall her." 
" Yes, you do ; clerked for Kaiser, — 

Glove department; 
Good-looker and high-stepper, 
Classic bust, and all that." 
" Oh, yes ; sure, — fond of clothes ; 

Seems all right, though, — 
Wouldn't have a hat I bought her." 
" Her folks are good, — old Virginia — 
Widowed mother — only daughter." 

"Well, what about her?" 
" She got in bad at Clarke's Arcade 
Tuesday, — stole a shirtwaist. 
And they caught her." 

" The deuce you say ! " 
" Some scene at the station, — 
Several of the boys were there, — 
I was there, and John Legare." 
"John Legare 1" "You know him, don't 

you?" 



30 In Ditierg Coneg 

" Know him ? . . . Yellow streak, believe me ! 
Infernal scoundrel when at college 1 " 

" Right you are ! 
He's been watching her for months, 

Like a hawk. — 
I can almost hear her now, — 
' O my God, why did I do it ! ' 

John went on her bond. 

I saw them last night on a car, — 
Tenth St. owl ; they didn't see me ; 
'Twas one o'clock or shortly after ; 
She had on some new white furs, — 
Her face was whiter than the furs: 
His eyes were on her like a vulture's. 
I saw them when they left the car 

At , you know the corner." 

" The very devil t So she's gone ! " 

" Yes, — and you and I 
Are as bad as he that we didn't warn her." 



THE SALVATION ARMY 

" Bare your heads in the presence of God, — 

Glory to His name ! " 
(" That bunch holds forth every night.** 
*' Look at those guys down on their knees! " 
" Believe me^ theyWe game, all right** 



3n Ditjerg Coneg 3i 

''Clear the way!'' ''Stop that car!'' 
" Lively y please! ") 

" Make the people hear ! " 
" He saved my soul and I hold Him dear, — 

Hallelujah!" 
" Blow the bugles, batter the drums, — 
Glory to His name ! " 

" I'm not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, — 

Glory to His name! 
* There is rest for the weary. 

Rest for you — 
(** That makes me feel like ' Kingdom come.' " 
" Heyy Skinny! here's a show." 
" I believe these folks are helping some." 
" Sounds good to me, if it's only so.") 
Rest for the weary, there is rest for the weary. 
In the sweet fields of Eden 
There is rest for you.' " 

" I proclaim the Light of the world, — 

Glory to His name ! " 
(" I'm for yer — shoot it to 'em, cap! " 
" Dunder und blitzen! don't I get through? " 
"Aw, what a very odd-looking chap! " 
" Holy Moses! — is that you? ") 

" Make the message clear ! " 
" That Light shines for me and you, — 
HaUelujah!" 



Sn Dit3et0 Cone0 



" Make the people hear ; 
Strike the cymbals, batter the drums,- 
Glory to His name ! " 



SORROW FOR ANGELS 

Ring the bells of hell ! 
Let them boom across its moors, 
Let them clang along its shores, 
While red lightning cleaves the gloom. 
While the ceaseless thunder roars, — 
Through the prisons of the dead 
Let them tell, let them tell, — 
Let the gleeful news be spread: 
One more soul — one more soul 
Makes clioice with fiends to dwell! 



THE YELLOW PERIL 

Silvery wings and body of gold, — 
Dead — and the lure of gold the cause ; 
Delicate moth with wings of gauze, — 
Dead from a flame of gold. 

Ribanded, garlanded, golden youth, — 
Dead through a father's lust for gold ; 
At Mammon's shrine in very truth 
Dead for the love of gold ! 



In Diuer0 Cone0 ss 



SLEEP 

Weary of a weary life, 

Let him sleep ; 
Better than to pray or weep, 
Now, — so weary of the strife ! 

Let him sleep. 

Nought avails that he can do, — 

Let him sleep. 
Strenuous resolves to keep 
He sought, and failed, — so may you. 

Let him sleep. 

Sunken cheeks and very pale, — 

Let him sleep. 
They who sow must also reap; 
You and I may faint and fail. — 

Let him sleep. 

Such dark circles 'neath the eyes ! 

(Let him sleep.) 
Eyes closed in slumber deep. — 
Is there hope beyond the skies ? — 

Let him sleep. 



34 3n Dit)er0 Cone0 



FAILURE 

A STAR shone down through the dark, dark 
gorge 

Where the pale self-murdered lay; 
All night it shone on the pale, pale face, — 

All night till the break of day. 
O cold, kind star, so cold and far 

Was the light of your guiding ray ! 



UNBIDDEN GUESTS 

Whence can they be, — 

Those faces I see. 
That simper and fawn and smile on me, 
That glimmer and lower, that leer and glower 
At me when my eyes are closed? 

May some sweet power 
From the heaven of light. 
Coursing clear down through the fathomless 

night. 
Save my soul from the faces I see, 
Mocking and frowning and smiling at me. 
Sometimes when my eyes are closed. 



In Ditier0 Cone0 35 



RESPITE 

Night by night my soul and I 
Plunge in a river dark and deep, 

And nought we know 

But its onward flow 
Till a cold gleam from the morning steep 
Strikes through the river dark and deep, 

When my soul and I, 

With shudder and sigh, 
Rise from Lethe, the river of Sleep. 



CONFLICT 

Silence such as this appals me, — 

'Tis the silence of the tomb. 
Nay, but of the holy cloister y 

And the angel-haunted room. 

On the bed the westering sunlight 
Strangely minds of deathly swoon. 

All the room is softly sleeping 
In the golden afternoon. 

Souls through mournful eyes are watching,- 

Sad unceasing vigils keep. 
Loving eyes that follow, bless thee. 

At thy work and i/n thy sleep. 



36 In Drter0 Cone0 

Haunting pictures, books and pictures, 
Mocking spectres of the past ! 

Friends unchanging, rather deem them, 
Pure and patient to the last. 

Evermore the garden pathways 
Wend through silence into shade. 

Peace is there and calm seclusion; 
There sweet promises were made. 

Leagued with evil is this mirror, — 
The pale horror of the face! 

There is One who fain would make it 
Radiant with holy grace. 

Horror of the soul that ever 

Loves the truth and does the wrong. 

Hope there is and overcoming, 

Through the Stronger thorn the strong. 

Horror, ever deepening horror. 
For the murderer of his past ! 

" / am Alpha and Omega, 
Ever -first and ever last.'* 

O the crushing, crushing burden, — 

Burden of a life outworn ! 
Cast thy burden on the Mighty, 

EvWy burden He has borne. 



In Dit)er0 Cone0 si 

Through the blackness one voice only 

Ever lures and ever charms. 
Underneath forever, ever 

Are the Everlasting Arms. 

" Why not, why not end it quickly ? 

One swift plunge, and all is o'er." 
One there is who freely offers 

Life and love forevermore. 

" Why not, — why not end it quickly ? 

One swift stroke, and all is o'er." 
Thou 7nay^st tread a shinmg pathway. 

Upward, upward evermore. 

Wave on wave black floods are surging, 
Fiends are pressing, horde on horde ! 

Thanks he to God who victory gives 
Through Jesus Christ our Lord! 



KINSHIP 

Call of earth, call of earth, downward, down- 
ward : 

Near and warm, warm and near, — earth calls, 
earth calls : 



ss M Dfaetg Coneg 

Light of stars, light of stars cold gleams, dis- 
tant : 

Warm flesh and blood am I, — earth's child, 
earth's child. 



AT THE BACK OF THE DESERT 

Into a desert far-removed he fared, 

Where few have trod ; 
When, ]o, upon the drear horizon flared 

The mount of God! 



BLACK WINS 

Life's long game at last is over, — 

Black wins. 
Spite of hope recurring ever. 
Spite of faith and brave endeavor, 

Black wins. 

Hate and scorn at last have triumphed,— 

Black wins. 
Slander black o'er pure intention. 
Passion dark, — white Love's prevention,- 

Black wins. 



M Dit)et0 Cone0 39 



Fiendish skill too great for mortal, — 

Black wins. 
Echoing back from beam and rafter 
Sounding now the gloating laughter, — 
Endless darkness follows after, — 

Black wins, black wins. 



WHITE WINS 

Yet for all this ghostly prowess, 

White wins ! 
Puzzled, baffled, pale and haggard, 
Yield thee not, though hope be laggard,- 

White wins. 

There's a way, — but give not over, — 

White wins. 
Well this dark and mocking stranger 
Knows despair's thine only danger, — 

White wins. 

Through the Stronger than the mighty, 

White wins. 
Through the faith o'er all prevailing, 
Hope eternal, love unfailing, 

White wins, white wins. 



40 an Dit)et0 Cone^ 



WHITE AND GOLD* 

I WOULD walk with Thee in white — 
Snowy garb from crimson laver ; 

Then with Thee would walk in light — 
Golden sunshine of thy favor ; 

Only they who walk in white, — 
Only they are crowned with light. 

AT SUNRISE 

Fresh from the seas of dawn, 
Day in his bright canoe 
Rises and beckons and shouts, 
Beckons to me and to you ; 
Tossing his radiant hair 
Flashing with golden dew, — 
Fresh from the seas of dawn. 
Day in his bright canoe. 

ANOTHER CHANCE 

Another day is given you, — 

Beware, O man ! 
Mar not its record fair and new ; 

Strength seek, — and plan. 

* Reprinted through the courtesy of the publishers of 
The Sunday School Times. 



3n Ditier$ Cone0 41 

'Tis not in you to change the past, — 

It stands for aye. 
Then while this fair new day shall last, 

Watch you, — and pray. 



POSSIBILITY 

Just this to be said : 
Day after day 
Stoutly essay — 
Living or dead — 
The impossible way. 
Whi/ put a ban 
On the possible way^ 
It wovld I treads 
Foeless and easy^ — 
Surely y I may? 
Yes, — if you can. 



FEBRUARY IN THE SOUTH 

Though the trees are bare, 
There is languor in the air, 
And voices far and near. 
And laughter low and clear 



42 an Diuet0 Coneg 

From the passers in the night ; 
For despite a breath of chillness, 
Sweet prophecies are cheering, 
Through memories endearing, 
In the warm and misty moonlight 
And the pulsing, vocal stillness 
Of this February night. 



SPRING'S AWAKENING 

At the kiss of this delicate air 
The young Spring turns in his woodland bed. 
And opens his drowsy violet eyes, 
And sleepily wonders who has spread — 
What gentle hand could have deftly tossed - 
This bright green mantle over his bed. 
With yellow flowers embossed. 



APRIL 

The joyous beauty of April I love, 
All free from the sad and old ; 

The beauty of azure and white all above 
And pale green all around, 

And decking the vivid emerald ground, 
The gay bright beauty of gold. 



3n DiVJet0 Cone0 43 



APRIL NOON 

From casements of the sky, 
Which elfs of the rain have hung 
With curtains white and blue, 
The sunlight shimmers through 
To lawns where lilacs bloom 
And cherry blossoms strew 
The tapestry of living green, 
All broidered thick with lowly flowers 
Of gold and purple hue. 



PINK AND WHITE AND PURPLE 

There's a mist along the river, there is purple 
in the west, 

And a faint delicious odor as of cherry blos- 
soms pressed. 

As I stray amid the twilight, through the pink 
and purple gloom. 

When the redbud and the dogwood and the 
lilac are in bloom. 

O the pink flush of the gloaming, the white 
cloud and the star, 

That send my thoughts a-roaming to the ex- 
quisite and far ! 



44 Kn Dil3er0 Cone0 

O the white and dreamy moonlight that goes 

dancing through m}^ room, 
When the redbud and the dogwood and the 

lilac are in bloom ! 

Let me wander through the meadow to the 

misty riverside, 
To the lonely tomb of winter, low-stricken in 

his pride. 
Then with pink and white and purple let me 

heap his grassy tomb. 
When the redbud and the dogwood and the lilac 

are in bloom. 



IN CHEROKEE PARK 

Warm and sweet the breath of June 
As I wander down a road 
Dark with beechen greenery, 
Passing flower-embowered homes, — 
Like to lordly old chiiteaux 
Or castles seen beyond the seas, — 
Crowning verdant terraced hills. 
Curves the road into the light. 
On the driveways far below 
Automobiles whirl and bound. 
But here is summer's deep repose. 
Clear within the vivid blue 



3n Dit)er0 Cane0 45 

Towers a cloud like mount of snow, 
Bright above the wooded knolls ; 
On a broad and sloping lawn 
Are trees with vines of crimson roses 
Closely circling them around, — 
Each a crimson column crowned 
With the foliage of June . . . 
White on azure, crimson, green, 
In a faery landscape blending . . . 
'Tis the spell of middle June. 



BY SOUTHERN SEAS 

Far in the south I found a land. 

Years and years ago. 
Where, skirting the shores of gleaming sand. 

Live-oaks and magnolias grow, — 
Great evergreen oaks on bank and strand 

With Spanish moss draped low. 

A land where the surge of misty seas 

E'er breaks over isles of dream; 
And motionless leagues of giant trees 

Like hosts enchanted seem ; 
The forests of pine, unstirred by breeze 

At dawn or in sunset's gleam. 



46 an Dit)et0 Cone0 

A far-away land of languid grace 
'Neath calm of azure skies, — 

With the richer charm of the winsome face 
And the glance of smiling eyes, — 

Frank and friendly, with never a trace 
Of cold and dark surmise. 

By sunny bayous and sedgy creeks 
Blossoms the red wild rose, — 

The rose that through long golden weeks 
In musky fragrance blows ; — 

The rose that on dark patrician cheeks 
In richer beauty glows ! 



JULY 

In airy robes my mistress goes 
Of deep dark blue and shimmering green ; 
The warm air sighs through her long dark hair, 
And sweet at her breast is the crimson rose ; 
Nor lip nor eye of maiden knows 
Her steadfast smile serene. 



In ^i\}tt$ Cone0 47 



AFTER THE GAME 

Rest, little hand, 
Safely enfolded ; 
Tennis-entanned, 
Rest, little hand; 
Long have I planned. 
Petted and scolded ; 
Rest, little hand. 
Safely enfolded. 



REPLY TO A VALENTINE 

A HEART / found, the other day, 
I wonder if it's thine! " 

A heart, — you have found? 
Not mine, I assure you; 
To find it would cure you 
Of tripping around. 
Poor hearts to ensnare; 
For my heart is old. 
And not worth the keeping; 
Beyond all compare 
It is bitter and cold. 
'Twere a sorrow profound, 
And a matter of weeping. 



48 In DitJer0 Cone^ 

If the heart you have found 
Were no better than mine, 
My sweet Valentine. 



MIGNONETTE 

Dear little maiden smiling at me, 

Artlessly, acting no part. 
When you're older and wiser be, 
No such smile will you have for me,- 
Bless your innocent heart ! 



VITIUM FUNESTUM 

The, poem's good, it quicks my blood, 
It sends my fancy far a-gleaning; 
For all that it can't he good — 
It must be bad, — it has some meanmg. 



THE POEM A LA IMAGISTE 

A RARE exotic, — if chaotic 
Seem its slender grays and thin blues ! 
By all confessed, it stands the test — 
It has no meaning (save to Hindus?). 



In Dit)et0 Cotter 49 



HE GOES ON FOREVER 

Long dead are hopes of wealth and fame, 
Youths' dreams are gone a-glinting ; 

Yet signs along the streets proclaim 
That Job is still prmtmg! 



UNCLE SAM TO KAISER BILL 

(February, 1917) 

Bill, what's that I hear through your hat? 

Arizona? New Mexico? 

And, — holy sword of Jehoshaphat ! — 

Texas? Why, Bill, don't you know 

Three-fourths of a hundred years ago 

Texas alone, at the Alamo, 

Frightened to death a bunch like that? 

Chorus : 
Bill, my boy, stay where you are, — 
Don't you fool with the Lone Star I 
Nor the forty seven that back of it are: 
We're mighty patient. Bill, my boy, 

But talk like that,— 
Please record it, — we don't enjoy. 

How does it read — " conquer them back " ? 
Ha 1 ha ! ha ! — If I hadn't seen 



50 3n Dit)er0 Cone^ 

The words, Bill ! He seems to lack 
Something essential, — Zimmie, I mean. 
Arizona? New Mexico? 

And — shades of Houston and Davy Crock- 
ett ! — 
Texas? Bill, surely you know 
You haven't the world in your side-pocket? 

It's true the fool thing sounds like a joke, — 
But if not, — I'm blamed if I can see 
Where you found the consummate bloke 
That could perpetrate it ; — that gets me. 
But Bill, my boy, this is flat — 
Better not try it (no bluster nor brag) — 
Scores of millions are back of that! 
You mustn't joke like a man on a jag 
About striking stars from the American Flag ! 

Bill, my boy, stay where you are, — 
Don't you fool with the Lone Star I 
Nor the forty seven that back of it are : 
We're mighty patient. Bill, my boy, 

But schemes like that — 
Take it from me — you can't employ. 



Sn Dit)et0 Cone0 si 



THE PURPLE CAT 

To my porch there came and sat 

A very remarkable purple cat, 

With eyes that would neither blink nor bat, — 

Eyes that were beryls pure. 
With timorous crouch and gentle whine 
She raised her blinkless eyes to mine, — 
I never saw a green so fine, — 

Eyes that were beryls, sure. 



ADVENT AND EXIT 

Through the night resounds 
The challenge of his roar. 

As he bounds 
Through the high and stormy arch 

Of the midnight sky, 
Shaking snow and rain 
From his gray and shaggy mane, — 
To whom do I refer? 
March. 

Through meadows dusk and chill 
Beneath the sunset sky 
He flees with plaintive cry, — 
Nimble-footed, 



52 an Diuer$ Cone0 

Snowy-fleeced ; 
And when the rainbow arch, 
Now faint in paling gold, 
Is lost in purple gloom, 
He'll rest within the fold. — 
" This refers to — whom ? " 
March. 



YOUTH 

There was one who bartered a golden cup. 
All heavy with rubies and pearls. 
For a draught of the nectar his lips would sup ; 
And he tossed the cup at the last sweet drop, 
With a toss of his golden curls. 



AGE 

Tolling the hours, tolling the hours, — 
Dulcet the tones of the golden bell 

Tolling the hours ! 
Would I were where the hours are not. 
Their sad procession all forgot. 
And need there were none for the golden throat 
Of a bell that dulcetly. 
Softly and solemnly. 
Tolls the hours. 



an Dft3et0 Cone0 53 



AN OCTOBER ELEGY 

There is sunshine 

Warm and mellow, 
But 'tis veiled. 
Trees are thick with leaves, 
But they are edged with yellow, — 
They were burned to red and yellow, 

When Spring's life failed. 
Butterflies, — 

Not of gorgeous dyes, — 

Small and yellow 
Butterflies 

Flit and hover 
In the veiled light and mellow 
Above the red and russet 

Leaves that cover 
All the ground. 
Over dreaming meadows 
Floats a still small sound, — 
Now a droning — now a quaver, — 

As of one that grieves ; 

And all the warm air 

Is filled with a savor 

Of death unto death. 
From the burning of the leaves, — 

With a churchyard flavor. 
From the burning of the leaves. 



54 3n Ditoet0 Cone0 



MACHPELAH 

Bury my dead 
Out of my sight, — 
Hopes that are dead. 
Fairer were they 
And purer than dawn, 
And cherished for many and many a day. 
Lay them away, 
Out of my sight. 

Bury my dead 
Out of my sight, — 
My dead past. 
This poor ghost of a beautiful day 
That perished utterly 
Long ago 

And so far away, — 
Bury it deeply, 
Out of my sight. 

Bury my dead 

Out of my sight, — 

My dead self; 
That sought to be patient, and smiled withal, 
And bore its part in the world of men ; 
That was quick to hear the voiceless call 
Of a soul in need; and even when 



In Dit)et0 Coneg 55 

It suffered amid the cold-eyed throng, 

Yet strove to be kindly and prayed to be 

strong. — 
Wrapped in its winding-sheet of dreams, 
How long ago since it lived it seems ! 

A memory fair — 

For a grave in the night. — 

Bury my dead 

Out of my sight. 



BEFORE SUNRISE IN NOVEMBER 

Deep within a violet morning, 
Through which blackbirds wheeled and chat- 
tered, 
Hung the moon in pale glory 
(Glory from the parting night — 
Pallor from the coming day) : 
liike a shield of living light 
High upon the crystal wall 
Of some castle in the air, — 
Deep within the violet morning. 



NOVEMBER 

Quiet and gray is the world today. 
Like the ghost of a day I remember ; 



56 In Ditoet0 Cotte0 

The woods I love are quiet and gray, 
And quiet and gray is the sky above; 

The sobered year is treading his way 

Through the quiet and gray of November, 



THE TWO GUESTS 

(THIRTIETH PSALM) 

Sorrow comes like a lodger at even, 

Clad in November's gray, — 
But sweet faced Joy, like an angel from heaven, 

Comes at the break of day ; 
Sorrow sojourns for the night, storm-driven; 

But Joy will abide for aye. 



MYSTERIES 

A lurid day 

Of bitter strife ^^ — 

That is life. 

The long night 
That followeth — 
That is death. 

A quickening Spirit 
Day and night 
Keeping ward — 
That is God. 



In Ditiersi ConeiS 57 



TRESPASS 

After the lapse of a careless day, 
Come not in careless mood to pray. 

For one there was in dreamy mood 

Who sought to pray one night, — 
When swift, insufferably fierce. 
There smote a stress of dreadful might 
Against his soul, as though to pierce 
With fire, and strike his lips to dumbness. 

'Tis no light thing to lightly pray 
After the sin of a careless day. 



AUDIENCE 

To all who plead in fear or need 

His face is turned assuringly ; 
The child who dreads the haunted dark, 

The maiden with her rosary ; 
He bends His ear alike to hear 

The rugged psalm, the aria ; 
The "now I lay me" of the child, 

The vestal's Ave Maria ; 
For all amid this twilight dim 

But children are, to Him. 



58 an Diuer0 Cone0 



AT THE TOMB 

The eyes of the faithless 
Saw clothes of the dead; 
But love, through its tears, 
Saw angels instead. 

Feet that were faithless 
Forsook Him and fled; 
But the arms that were true 
Could carry Him — dead. 

They had gone to their homes,- 
Of such tales they were wary. 
She lingered — and heard 
The rare music of — Mary. 



« ALL THAT I AM NOT IS HE " 

All that I am not is He, 

My holy One of Galilee ; 

I am darkness — He is light ; 

I am weakness — He is might ; 

I in scorn and vengeful ire 

Foes would overwhelm with fire, — 

His the patience nought can tire. 

He is all that I am not, 



In Ditjeris; Cone^ 59 

Or He my name from His book would blot. 
Patient, bright and loving One, 
May thy will, not mine, be done. 



THE WHOLE BURNT-OFFERING 

My body for thee, O God, — 

This body of nerve and fire; 

No cold and insensate clod. 

But glowing with pure desire 

And thrilled with an exquisite pain. 

As the flame on the altar leaps higher ; 

Wholly for thee, my God, — 

An offering made by fire. 



SAFETY 

WouLDST thou from ghosts be saved 

In age or solitude, — 
From dark illusions of the soul? 

Among thy guests include 
The Lord from heaven, 

And o'er the door of thy soul have graved 
A Jiome of the Holy Ghost. 



60 3Jn Dit)et0 Cone0 



THE WATER OF LIFE 

" I WILL drink of the water of life," I said, 
And raised the cup for an eager draught, — 

When a harlequin dressed in black and red 
Dashed the cup from my lips, and 
laughed. . . . 

The pure sweet water of life, distilled 

Of the blue of skies and the shimmer of woods 

And the notes of birds that at evening call 

And the golden light of the rarest moods ; — 

I lifted the cup with the nectar filled ; — 

" Not for you is the cup," he said, 

As he struck it down and the nectar spilled ; 

" There's a sweeter draught for you," he said : 

But he gave me a cup of the purest gall, — 

The harlequin clad in black and red. 



